


I came in from the outside (burnt out from a joyride)

by Thegaygumballmachine



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: 20 questions with Hilda Spellman, DARK HILDA AGAIN BECAUSE IM OBSESSED WITH HER FIG H T ME, F/F, I’m posting this so fast but that’s fine i’m Fine, Magical restraints, Romance?, Sabrina having the best intentions, Sibling Incest, Sister/Sister Incest, Spellcest Prompt Challenge, Zelda’s POV again, and them going badly, dysfunction in spades, harold - Freeform, lots of genres at once and me being bad at juggling them, no never mind, sabrina is an idiot, sort of a fade to black but there’s a sequel coming ladies, truth cake, very very badly, who called her a dark little cupcake please be my best friend, zelda being a liar and regretting it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 02:30:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18002111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thegaygumballmachine/pseuds/Thegaygumballmachine
Summary: “She should have been suspicious the moment Sabrina announced that she was going to bake.”(Or, Sabrina playing matchmaker. Yet again.)





	I came in from the outside (burnt out from a joyride)

**Author's Note:**

> a. title from Hozier’s ‘Almost (Sweet Music)’ because I’m obsessed with Wasteland, Baby! just at the minute. 
> 
> b. is it extra to post a fic for a challenge the same day that challenge goes up? because if so, I am very extra. 
> 
> b2. the challenge prompts were ‘truth cake confessions’ and ‘locked in a room together’. I tried to incorporate the second sentiment with Zelda’s immobility but, as you’ll see, that’s kind of a stretch 
> 
> c. this probably goes without saying if you’ve read literally any of my fic, but don’t read this if you don’t like Hilda letting her darker side out a little.

She should have been suspicious the moment Sabrina announced that she was going to bake.

Of all the hobbies she’s collected and discarded over the years, she has never tried to cook for any serious length of time. There is a very good reason for that, or rather several; Hilda’s propensity for arranging her baking pans down to the millimeter, the clumsiness that’s never quite seemed to dissipate fully after certain growth spurts, her steadfast unwillingness to use a recipe for even the most complex of dishes. Sabrina and Zelda alike are simply not suited to the kitchen, and Hilda has made that well clear, albeit in her politest manner.

Still, for reasons entirely unknown to everyone but her, today she has decided to make a cake by hand. It’s for Harvey, she says, it’s his birthday, but she wants Zelda to try it first to make sure it’s edible.

Let it never be said that Zelda is not kind; she firmly believes that _edible_ will be a grand feat at her niece’s hands, and she still, graciously, agrees.

——

“It’s very good, niece.”

She isn’t lying. For once, Sabrina has turned out something not only consumable but _delicious_ , and Zelda thinks she may actually finish her portion. It’s too good for the Kinkle boy; she resents that he, of all people, will be the one to enjoy Sabrina’s only successful effort.

It is surprising to her that Hilda has decided not to try any; she is always inclined to support Sabrina at every turn, even in endeavors such as these. Today, she sits silent and observes, and it’s eerie, how opposite they are from their typical roles… not that she could care less what Hilda does.

They haven’t spoken for anything beyond the trivial in days. It is by no means their longest spat, but it’s weighty — Hilda’s mood has been persistently horrible, and the house at large has suffered for it. Eventually, it will be between Zelda’s pride and decent food, and even she isn’t certain which will win.

Still, she cleans her plate easily, and Sabrina looks so happy she could cry. Zelda gives a dry smile, and makes to stand.

“I’m sure Harvey will be very pleased,” she allows, though it is behind a tight smile.

“Sit down, Auntie,” Sabrina replies, and there’s something in her eyes Zelda doesn’t like, but she obeys in any case, wary at best. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

No good experience has ever come from those words. Zelda opens her mouth to protest, but Sabrina mumbles through an incantation before she can. She doesn’t catch much of it, but there’s a suffocating weight on her in the next instant, and for all her effort, she can’t move anything but her hands.

“Let me up,” she all but growls. Sabrina examines her cuticles, gives no indication of even hearing her.

“The cake… it’s Auntie Hilda’s recipe.”

Zelda’s heart stops.

Surely she doesn’t mean _that_ recipe.

Her grin is toothy and innocent, forceful in its reminder of her younger years.

She had, as it turned out, taken that lipstick in 2006, just as she has now bound Zelda to her chair with a spell of her own making, and, apparently, fed her Hilda’s patented ‘truth cake’.

She might be proud if she weren’t so incensed.

——

“I’ll be back when you two have talked it out!”

“You are _just_ like your father!”

It isn’t a compliment, but it is the truth — she can feel the enchantment stealing over her, bringing a pleasant warmth and contentment that edges easily into discomfort if she so much as thinks to deceive. It is more obvious by far than Hilda’s rendition, and, she imagines, stronger. Sabrina does nothing by halves. Satan help that girl when they’re no longer around to afford her some subtlety.

She turns her attention to Hilda now, who she expects to be wearing her most sheepish expression at the opposite end of the table, readily apologetic; rather, she looks pensive, wrapped up in her own mind.

“Hilda,” she snaps, and that seems to shake her out of it, something clearing from her features as she meets Zelda’s gaze. Straining against her niece’s admittedly impeccable magic, Zelda sighs, closes her eyes in pure frustration.

“Help me.”

There’s an undeniable plea in it, and when she looks again, there’s an evil little smile playing at Hilda’s lips, and she’s drumming her nails on the table between them, cogs turning visibly.

“No… no, I don’t think so.”

Much as she tries not to show it, that gives Zelda pause. She is so very exposed — unable to do anything but watch Hilda, and wait for her verdict. She has nothing to hide behind, cannot even shift in her seat, and it terrifies her. Her only recourse is to let Hilda do what she will, and hope they make it out of it marginally undamaged. Her fingers curl around the edges of the chair, the only movement permitted her, and she swallows thickly, never dropping her gaze.

“Then what do you think?”

“I think you’re going to answer some questions for me,” says Hilda, and her tone is delicious, and Zelda hates herself for thinking it.

——

“Let’s start simple,” she whispers. “Something easy for you.”

Zelda tenses. Hilda sits primly atop the table, legs crossed at the ankle, one hand splayed behind her to center herself. The other fidgets with her cardigan, which is canary yellow today, and Zelda has a sneaking suspicion that Hilda knows it’s one of her favorites, despite the fact that she denies it at every turn.

As if she hears the thought, and perhaps because she does, Hilda smirks, blinks, and asks:

“Do you like me in this jacket?”

Zelda lets it stretch to the absolute limit of pain before she forces out her answer. Hilda watches her struggle, tuts at her stubbornness.

“Yes,” she pants, and her sister’s eyes flash, triumph heady in her blood.

“I thought so,” she murmurs, mostly to herself, and that smile is back, that horrible curve to her mouth that looks so completely unnatural on her Zelda can barely even stand to look at it.

And yet…

And yet, at the same time, she’s drawn to this side of Hilda like no other, captivated by the darkness that swirls, kaleidoscopic, just below the surface.

“Did you eat the cookies I made for Gryla this last solstice?”

The cycle repeats. Fire licks at the entirety of Zelda’s being.

“Come on now, that’s a good girl…”

A different sort of fire with those words, almost more painful, equally as unrelenting.

“Yes.”

“Oh, Zelda. You know I would make you anything you asked for.”

Deathly condescending, Hilda laughs low in her throat, and, for the first time, it does truly feel like she is laughing at Zelda, like she’s finding humor in her stupidity.

——

Every question sears something new into Zelda’s skin. Hilda tears her lies apart one by one, damages the shell of her insults beyond repair with a steady string of _yes_ and _always_ and begins to delicately unravel that which lies beneath. Her questions are pointed and ruthless and it quickly becomes apparent that she won’t stand for much of anything after this is all over.

She will demand respect, and Zelda will have no choice but to give it to her.

Her worst fear, realized. She grinds her teeth so hard it starts to hurt.

“Tell me, sister,” Hilda hums for what has to be the fiftieth time, trailing a finger over the back of Zelda’s shoulders. It’s got an alien depth to it, and she knows that this, whatever it is, will be her last undoing. “Why exactly is it that you prefer to _kill_ _me_ ,” — this she hisses, directly into Zelda’s ear and, for all intents and purposes, utterly cruel — “over talking to me about what upsets you?”

The spell may loosen Zelda’s tongue, but she is still left speechless now. She has convinced herself over these many, many years that she doesn’t know why she does it; that it’s an impulse, a way to vent her anger. Harmless in most respects, unforgivable in one. Still, the truth, the final truth, seems to come from deep within her, whether she acknowledges it or not, and soon enough she’s voicing it in a shaking whisper, gripping to the chair so harshly that her knuckles have gone bone white.

She can never take this back.

“I do it because I love you,” she grits out, and Hilda snorts, “... and not in ways a sister should.”

That stops her cold. Her palm digs into Zelda’s shoulder, fingers curling in reaction, and there’s a silence that borders on ominous, stretching tight across them and threatening to shatter at any moment. Zelda stares straight ahead, unblinking, unwilling to know until she must.

“Do you now?”

It’s quiet, and gentle, and likely not even really a question, but Zelda is still compelled to answer, and she nearly sobs this yes.

“And that’s why you’ve been— oh, _Zelda_ , you are such an _idiot_ sometimes.”

She flits her hands across Zelda’s shoulders and casts the counterspell, leaving her finally able to turn and look at her tormentor, though she isn’t exactly sure she wants to. She finds no pity in Hilda’s eyes, nor any expectation of mercy; regret and love twine together and overwhelm as one, darkening the familiar blue.

Zelda wants to touch her more than she’s ever wanted anything. All her cards are on the table, and Hilda still withholds everything she has.

“I have one more question,” she says, with all the conviction of a woman who has just received undeniable proof of her beloved’s affection, and even more besides. She straddles Zelda carefully, insinuating herself into her space and hooking her arms around her neck. The change leaves her shellshocked, and she barely even manages to react at all, breath catching in her throat at the closeness. Hilda smells like fresh earth and cherries, and she smiles sweetly now, leaning in so that Zelda feels the breath on her lips when she next speaks.

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

And this… this is, by far, the easiest yes to give.


End file.
